


A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

by abysmal_seraph (absymal_seraph)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Dom James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Dominance, Feeding, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Sub Bruce Banner, Sub Steve Rogers, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absymal_seraph/pseuds/abysmal_seraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bruce are promised a reward for tagging along at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vassalady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/gifts).



> My fic for [vassalady](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady) for the Bottom Steve Exchange. Title taken from "A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (All We Got) from the Great Gatsby soundtrack.
> 
> My brain knows there's two fics before this--how Bruce and Rhodey got together and how Steve got involved--so I'm hoping this makes sense by itself. I also hope it's not confusing when I mentioned Jim Morita by just Jim. Steve apparently collects Jameses of all sorts.

Steve isn’t a big fan of parties. Bucky had insisted on dragging him to them, hoping they’d stumble across someone who saw Steve the way he had instead of the feisty scrap of nothing everyone else had taken Steve for. That had never quite panned out.

Those parties hadn’t been a thing like this, of course, down to earth instead of fancy dress and networking and fake smiles combating the honesty found at the bottom of a champagne glass. Steve’s waiting for someone to get so sloppy with pricey social lubricant they actually say what’s on their minds instead of what will help fatten their purses. He’s also waiting for Tony to be Tony and make his own company’s party interesting.

He doesn’t feel the least bit over-dramatic for thinking he might be in Hell. Sending an uncharitable thought Jim’s way that he immediately regrets--he and Bruce can leave at anytime, after all--Steve let’s his gaze drift around the huge ballroom.

He can’t find Jim but there’s Bruce playing wallflower, hogging an entire corner to himself as he nurses the same glass of champagne he’d been handed over an hour ago. It’s darker in his little hidey-hole of isolation, like he’s managed through sheer will and bad mood to cut it off from the bright lights, clouds of perfume and cologne, and loud sounds of the party. No one dares approach, barely dares to peek. Steve skirts between impressed by and jealous of Bruce’s intimidation skills.

He’s not actually sure if the other guests don't recognize Bruce or are simply trying to sidestep face-to-face time with Hulk, but they definitely recognizes Steve. Over time, the public’s cobbled together enough images of the Avengers to potentially spot them out of uniform. Natasha’s changeable enough and Clint’s everyday handsome enough to pass under the radar when they want and need, but Bruce coasts by unnoticed by pure inability to suspend disbelief. It doesn’t matter how many sneaky post-battle photographs of Bruce surface. People just don’t want to believe that one of the scariest forces on the planet is this average, middle-aged man who should probably be--ironically--teaching someone’s kids how not to blow up a lab.

Aside from Tony and Jim, nobody on the team invites media attention. They get swamped by it anyway, people demanding interviews and talk show appearances and press junkets like they don’t understand that there are individuals who honestly want the Avengers dead and have no qualms with collateral damage. 

Steve is the exact opposite of a media darling. He deals in sarcasm and nasty truths, refusing to let people paint the time he came from--not that they believe he’s _that_ Captain America--as some slice of perfection. He misses his friends, loved ones, and the familiarity but not people disrespecting Peggy. Or finding his likeness on a piece of propaganda so racist he couldn’t look Gabe and Jim in the eye for a week.

He makes people nervous now and he doesn’t care. His face isn’t selling war bonds anymore, and he’s not doing the dancing monkey routine twice.

Funny how that’s not actually stopping party guests from trying to chat him up right now.

In the past hour, Steve’s deflected a businessman’s grabby daughter, an equally grabby male journalist, a flock of parents of either sex angling for Captain America as a son-in-law, and a fleet of people just out for a photo op. At the moment, he’s trying not to twitch as a man he silently refers to as General Disappointment--an Army general disillusioned by modern values--bemoans the loss of good, clean living. Disappointment’s favorite topic seems to be his ex-wife, a beautiful, gray-haired woman currently holding court near the punch table. Steve thinks she might be the famed Ms. Harriet Pepper had muttered about in awe before disappearing into the crowd, Tony trailing after like a lost puppy.

“How did you get into the party?” Steve asks once there’s a chance. There’s nothing welcoming about his tone, but Disappointment either fails to notice or doesn’t care.

“There’s always an open invite for a military representative--aside from Colonel Rhodes, of course--what with Stark Industries’ former,” Disappointment’s face creased into a thunderous frown, “contribution to the war effort. I was chosen because I’m used to dealing with the business world types.”

There’s a pause then, “It’s a shame Colonel Rhodes went back to going by War Machine. It must have been an honor to see the Patriot in action.”

“The Iron Patriot was an insult to him and an eyesore to everyone else,” Steve says just as Jim magically appears, sense of impending shitstorms no doubt finely tuned from years being Tony’s friend.

Jim offers the general a greeting and his best fake smile before dragging Steve off. “I don’t know why I expected either of you to behave,” he says with a glance towards Bruce and his corner of solitude. Jim’s tone speaks different, darkly amused, and he smells like he’s lying.

“Nah, you like it when we act out.”

“Probably hit my head one too many times but I like watching the two ‘nicest’ members of the Avengers being their true asshole selves,” Jim admits with an unapologetic smile. 

Steve gives him an unsubtle once over, yet again taking in the sight of him in that dress uniform. A moment of guilt flickers through Steve for the filthy route his mind goes. He’s supposed to respect the uniform, not want to see Jim come in it.

“At the risk of sounding like a kid, how much longer?”

Jim’s grin bares more teeth than strictly necessary. “Until I leave. Which will probably be when Tony gets bored enough to drag me and Pepper off with him.” His expression turns to exasperated fondness before he shoots Steve an amused, sidelong glance. “You _could_ just leave now.”

Like hell. Cutting out early means forfeiting the reward he and Bruce have been promised for suffering through this with Jim.

Chuckling at Steve’s firmly set jaw, Jim nods. “You two are so good for me,” Jim says, low enough that even Steve’s sensitive hearing strains to catch it in the noise of the ballroom. He dumps Steve into an empty seat beside Bruce before disappearing back into the crowd.

“Tone it down,” Bruce demands. His eyes are soft and hazy because alcohol can still affect him. His smugness over that is legendary. “The pheromones are thick enough to choke on.”

“I’ll choke you on something, all right,” Steve automatically snaps back, stomach finally settling from Jim’s unexpected praise. He smirks at Bruce, loudly sniffing the air to catch the burst of arousal his words cause. “Hoping to make this party more interesting?”

Steve’s been considering off and on since this shindig started if fucking Bruce over the nearest table is worth it. He’s leaning towards yes because it’s the best way to get that smirk off Bruce’s face and all those trim, tempting lines of his body aren’t hidden under clothing two sizes too big for once. He silently thanks Jim for picking out such a beautifully tailored tux.

Steve’s own dress uniform is one of the only things stopping him. He’s not a perfect soldier but disrespecting the uniform feels like swearing in a church. Worst part is Bruce knows it, gaze full of challenge as he makes an unimpressed noise.

“Call me when you’re not scared of the Army fairy floating down to shoot you in the ass.”

Steve relaxes into the familiarity of this, let’s it work out all the tension of being treated like a celebrated sideshow attraction. No one tries to approach him, like he’s been swallowed and protected by Bruce’s ‘fuck off’ powers. He wants to rest his head on Bruce’s shoulder, breathe him in while they trade insults and watch Jim engage in meaningless small talk with people he probably hates. He feels guilty for not sharing some of the load, but he’s starting to suspect he and Bruce are just there so Jim has something pretty to look at every now and then.

That’s fine. Steve loves him enough to be the tempting fluff in the corner, and he loves Bruce enough to not bail when he knows Bruce won’t unless it becomes absolutely too much to handle. 

Steve doesn’t say anything when Bruce leans into him, too close to not raise a few eyebrows. The heat along his side and the fond look Jim sends their way makes it more than worth it.

*****

Tony lasts maybe another hour before loudly bowing out. It’s no shocker when he drags Jim and Pepper along for the ride, but he grabs Steve and Bruce too, saying something about an Avengers after party while purposely turning on a stream of babble too fast to allow the journalists to get a word in edgewise. He waits until they’re all bundled into the back of a limo before turning it off again, sliding closer to Pepper while banishing Jim to the other row of seats with Steve and Bruce.

“Tell me where to drop you off so you can give those two whatever you promised them for showing up,” Tony says, proving yet again that while he--surprisingly--has no interest in the details of their relationship, he does seem to understand it well enough.

Pressing a kiss to Bruce’ temple and Steve’s cheek, Jim chuckles from his place between them. His body’s lax with relief, head briefly lolling against Steve’s shoulder as he grabs the nearest hand from each of them to rest chastely in his lap. “My place.”

Jim’s ‘place’ in California turns out to be an honest to God house with a huge yard. Steve’s got the weirdest urge to break out a mower even though the grass is neat and low, some out there apartment kid awe that borders on weirded out at all the space Jim has to himself. Thankfully, he and Bruce are being guided inside before he can do anything embarrassing.

“You can explore tomorrow, Steve,” Jim absently tells him, attention focused on waving Pepper and Tony goodbye. 

“Stop using your freaky mindreading powers on me,” Steve jokes, earning a light squeeze around his wrist that might be a warning but is probably just amusement. Jim is easily annoyed but not as quick to anger as Steve and Bruce, and he’s got the patience of a saint where they’re concerned.

Steve shuts up anyway, eager to see what being tonight’s eyecandy has earned them.

“Dinner before reward,” Jim says as soon as the door’s locked behind them. There’s something about the look he gives Steve that might be smug, or it could just be Steve’s imagination. 

Jim loosens his tie as Steve nods and Bruce makes a soft sound of agreement. Steve wants to follow suit and lose the uniform, but that’s Jim’s right, not his.

Jim stops at the tie and jacket, carefully folded on the couch before he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and leads them to the kitchen. Dinner turns out to be leftover pasta, heated up then the majority doled out into two large portions that Jim sets before them. He settles between them empty-handed, chair angled towards Bruce to make feeding him easier.

It used to make Steve jealous even though the idea of being fed reminds him too much of being sick. Steve doesn’t want it, but it had taken a long time to realize it’s about Bruce’s needs and not favoritism. Now Steve just watches them while he eats, enjoying the pleased, sleepy look that always comes over Bruce’s face when he relinquishes small, everyday tasks like this into Jim’s care.

Steve wonders if Bruce’s reward will involve a call from Dr. Ross. He’s never actually met her, just caught the sound of her voice over the phone or her scent still clinging to Bruce or Jim or both. Steve doesn’t know her but the thought of including her somehow makes him a little giddy. He thinks he might be a little in love with her, which is stupid, but anyone Bruce loves that much has to be worth it. Jim is proof enough of that. 

Jim pushes away from the table when Steve and Bruce’s plates are clean. He portions out his own serving and puts it in the microwave before turning to look at them.

“Stand up,” he says and starts removing Steve’s uniform when he’s obeyed.

This had happened when Steve was sick too, being helped in and out of clothes, but it had never felt like how Jim does it. His touch is light and quick, focused on removing items in a way that isn’t sexual but definitely not clinical either. Proprietary, like every second is a reminder that Steve is his and Jim takes excellent care of what he owns.

When Steve’s naked, uniform and underwear carefully folded on the table, Jim takes his mouth in one of the sweetest kisses Steve has ever been given.

“So good for me,” Jim says, gaze soft as it shifts between Steve and Bruce. “Now, you two go to the bedroom and wait on the bed ‘til I’m through eating. Straight down the hall, first door on the left. Do whatever you like as long as you don’t snoop.”

They go without a word, Bruce’s hands exploring Steve’s exposed flanks and the curve of his ass as they walk, Jim’s laughter following them. 

The room is easy to find and the bed more than inviting. Steve tenses just before Bruce shoves him onto it, battle instincts telling him to fight but he lets his body go liquid instead. Grins up as Bruce looms, fully dressed and taking Steve in with hungry appreciation.

“Want something?”

Smiling like a shark, Bruce pounces. Steve squirms under him, rolls them so he’s on top with his weight pressing Bruce down. Bruce bucks and nearly throws him, fastening teeth on Steve’s neck as his fingers dig bruises into Steve’s back and sides then the back of his thighs when Steve’s hips roll against his own. 

They stay like that, lazily aggressive, wrinkling Bruce’s tux without an ounce of regret until Jim arrives. He watches them with a small smile, hands in his pockets like he’s witnessing some vaguely amusing spectator sport. Steve moans at his seeming indifference, ruts harder against Bruce as his teeth threaten the curve of Steve’s Adam’s apple. 

“Sometimes think I’ve adopted a pair of wild dogs,” Jim says, disappearing into the walk-in closet nearby. He returns wearing nothing but his briefs, denying them the show of him stripping. He carries a large, nondescript black gift bag in each hand. “Let Bruce up, Steve.”

It’s an order instantly obeyed, but not without a small pang of disappointment. Steve had been hoping to ruin that tux. As Jim sets the bags on the bed to start undressing Bruce, Steve’s pleased to see he at least managed to get a few wet streaks on the pants. 

“Can’t he keep it on?”

“Oh, he looks good in it,” Jim says with open appreciation. He nods at the bags. “But he’ll look better in that.”

Steve takes that as permission to be nosy. The lack of admonishment when he peeks inside the nearest bag makes him braver, so he pulls out the box inside and flips it open after a quick look at Jim for approval. Steve’s breath comes out in a low hiss, making Bruce twitch with the urge to turn around and look. He doesn’t, earning a proud smile from Jim for his restraint.

Steve pulls the corset from the box with slightly trembling hands. This is Bruce’s thing, Bruce’s reward, but Steve can’t pretend it doesn’t affect him. He loves the rare occasions where Jim dolls Bruce up, loves them because Bruce loves them, feeling comfortable in his own skin in a way Steve isn’t sure he feels often. 

“No, that one’s for you,” Jim says with a wicked smirk.

Nodding, Steve looks closer at what he’s holding. The corset’s black with dark blue piping and laces, the front dipping downward at the chest in a way that makes Steve’s eyes roll. Jim’s clearly been listening too hard to Bruce’s comments about Steve’s ‘ridiculous tits’. The contrast between the stark black and Steve’s skin is intriguing. He hopes there’s a mirror--there _has_ to be a mirror--so he can properly see himself once dressed.

“Take out the rest.”

Steve does, finds black lacy panties, garters, and sheer black stockings that’ll be a holey mess by the end of the night. The other bag contains a corset of deep emerald green, a nasty joke unless you understand how Bruce works. The corset has built in suspenders to hold up the accompanying stockings, and the emerald panties are a cool, silky weight in Steve’s hands.

When Bruce is naked, Jim orders him not to turn and hands him a phone. “Call Betty.”

Bruce shivers and does it, eyes curious as he waits for her to pick up. 

“Put it on speaker when she answers,” Jim orders, moving around Bruce to reach the bed. He pets Bruce as he goes, soft, reassuring pats that melt into caresses, settling any of the anxiety Bruce might be feeling at having to wait. 

“Hello?”

“Betty,” Bruce says, strained with anticipation. 

Dr. Ross laughs. “That time, is it? Seen your surprise yet?”

“He won’t let me,” Bruce answers, somehow managing to sound matter of fact instead of like a sullen child.

“Well, look.” 

Bruce does, no hesitation. Steve’s still not sure how things work between Jim and Dr. Ross, if there’s a hierarchy or they’re on equal footing. If they have to discuss everything first so they don’t end up stepping on each other’s toes. Jim’s clearly fine with this order being followed, even helping by holding the corset up for Bruce to see as he turns.

The reaction is immediate: a rattling indrawn breath, wide hungry eyes, teeth clicking together in open want, and a hand already reaching for the corset. Jim hands it over easy enough, smiles bright when Bruce cradles it like something precious. He tears his eyes away from the corset to give Jim a desperate look, a silent question. 

“Panties first,” Dr. Ross says like she can see them or just knows Bruce well enough to guess exactly what he wants. Bruce reluctantly hands the corset back to accept the underwear. He hesitates before sliding his feet through the holes, a flush on his cheeks. There’s always that initial embarrassment, that fear that one of them will call him a nasty freak for liking this. It never comes, and Bruce gets a little braver each time but he still looks a little out of sorts once the panties are in place, worried. 

“Your turn,” Jim says to Steve, who immediately hops to it. Steve’s trying to adjust his erection against all the lace and soft fabric when he finally looks at Bruce. The worry is gone now, replaced by want and gratitude as he looks Steve over.

“Now the stockings,” Dr. Ross says, voice a little hazy with arousal but still carrying the strong notes of command.

Steve does it with Bruce this time, tugging the stockings over his legs with clumsy fingers. There’s already ladders forming but Steve likes it. Perfection is boring, and there’s a used look to the pair of them in their holey stockings and panties already growing damp in the fronts. Like they’re taking a break between hard fucks, sorting out the mess left of them before they’re wrecked all over again. 

Bruce moans when Jim lifts the green corset in asking, nods hard as Jim tells him to turn around and brace himself against the wall. Bruce’s feet are spread wide, more invitation than support, head down and fingers curved like claws against the wall. He shudders when Jim pets along his spine, outright whines when the corset encircles him. He has to move his hands to keep it in place as Jim works, presses his cheek against the wall in some vague form of support as he gasps and sighs and moans. Dr. Ross’s breathing picks up but she’s otherwise silent as Bruce comes apart at the seams.

“Done,” Jim says once Bruce is laced up tight and the stockings are clipped. He guides Bruce to the closet, pushing one of the doors open to reveal a full length mirror attached. 

Steve watches Bruce watch himself with bright eyes, hands tickling over the sides of the corset as Bruce shifts this way and that to look at his reflection. Bruce is all broad shoulders and big hands and hair everywhere against the softer look of the corset and stockings. It’s what he really likes about it though, that juxtaposition between masculine and feminine, and it’s why the green works so well for him. Hulk is, after all, probably considered the most masculine member of the team but the corset doesn’t care about that as it narrows Bruce’s waist. 

The expression on Bruce’s face is beautiful, the sort of happy he doesn’t let himself be too often.

“Like your reward?” Dr. Ross asks, and Bruce nods absently, like he’s forgotten she can’t see him.

“I clearly need to go to boring, rich people parties more often,” Bruce says, smirking when that gains him chuckles from his audience. “Yeah, I like my reward. Thanks.”

He’s clearly directing it at all of them, smiling like he’s won the moon. Steve wants to kiss him, feel the way happiness has made his movements messy and drunk, but Jim’s already nudging Steve so he can finish being done up.

“You’re welcome, honey. I’ve got papers to grade,” Dr. Ross says, tone full of regret. “You boys have fun. Bye, Steve.”

She always does that, includes Steve in small ways but doesn’t try to involve him more than he wants to be involved. It’s probably the real reason she’s hanging up. Steve feels guilty for a moment because he knows how much Dr. Ross means to Bruce, but it passes quickly when he catches Bruce sizing him up as Jim tightens the laces.

Steve reaches down to adjust his erection, or maybe just give it a showy tug or two. Bruce’s eyes on him makes him want to flaunt like a peacock.

Jim clucks his tongue, voice lazy and indifferent when he says, “Well, I guess you can get off now. It’s not like we can’t just get you hard again.”

Back going ramrod straight, Steve lets out a shuddering breath because, hell, is Jim going where he thinks with this? He twists around as much as the corset will let him, eyes Jim over his shoulder then bites out a curse. There’s a detached smirk on Jim’s face, gaze fond but distant, and Steve’s going to melt on the spot. This almost never happens with Jim. He’s got no problem treating Bruce and Steve rough but there’s always the undeniable weight of his attention and care on them. Steve doesn’t think his bouts of needing to be used like a cheap toy always sit well with Jim.

Or maybe he’s just adapting, finally wrapping his head around it because Jim and Bruce were together first. Bruce needs to know he’s loved even when he’s purposely being a pain in the ass, and even if that love comes with a sharp edge of pain. He needs to know he hasn’t messed up. Putting him on the receiving end of what’s about to happen wouldn’t lead to anything good.

Jim wraps his fingers around Steve’s neck but doesn’t squeeze, just uses the grip to guide Steve to the bed and roughly put him on his stomach. Steve stays where he’s placed, face half buried in the sheets and breath coming fast enough to make him dizzy as he stares up at Jim. Jim’s looking at Bruce though, ignoring Steve.

“That looks painful,” Jim says, eyes on Bruce’s barely contained erection. He absently taps the curve of Steve’s ass. “Got something to help you take care of it.”

Steve whines, grinds down onto the bed and no one tries to stop him because it doesn’t matter. He could make a mess of his little black panties and if they play this right--play it the way he’s _hoping_ \--they’ll still use him as they please. Reduce him from Captain America, Living Legend and National Treasure to nothing more than a tight hole and a hard cock.

Bruce shifts gears fast, gaze on Steve going from ravenous to nonchalant as he idles closer to the bed. He all but devours Jim’s mouth when he gets close enough, needs to put all that passion somewhere so he can give Steve what he wants. 

Calloused fingers tickle along the back of Steve’s thighs when Bruce pulls away from Jim. They work under the panties, shoving them aside enough that Steve’s sure they’re going to tear if Bruce keeps it up. Bruce roughly palms his exposed cheek aside, looks vaguely impressed by what he finds even as the scent of his arousal kicks up even higher. 

“Good enough. Pass me the lube?”

“Bruce,” Steve mutters, shifting back into the fingers barely pressing at his entrance. Bruce coolly meets his gaze before dropping it, nudging harder like he might push his fingers in dry. Steve could take it but Jim’s already handing over the bottle.

The panties snap in place as Bruce lets go then they’re being shoved down around Steve’s thighs to allow better access. Slick fingers roughly push into him, scissoring and twisting for awhile before leaving him empty. His hands knot in the covers when his hips are yanked back, and he bows his back to help make the position even less dignified.

Steve looks back, finds Jim at the foot of the bed watching and Bruce shoving the front of his panties down just enough to free his cock. It’s fucking filthy, perfect enough to make Steve rethink his opinion about perfection overall. 

He lets out a yell when Bruce pushes in and immediately regrets it. Worries they’ll take it wrong and think it hurts. Oh, it does, burns like the best sort of Hell because Bruce’s cock is finishing the job of stretching him open that those fingers had barely started. But it’s what Steve wants and it’s nowhere near too much for him to take.

Bruce doesn’t stop though, keeps pushing in until he’s fully seated, panting as he hunches over Steve. He gives Steve a feral grin before he pulls back then snaps his hips forward again hard enough to slide Steve further up the bed. The next time he pulls out, he drags Steve back on his cock almost immediately, giving him no time to think and nowhere to go.

“Harder,” Jim demands, hand pushing Steve’s upper body back down onto the bed. “Come on, he probably won’t break.”

Steve’s brain goes haywire as Bruce puts his back into it, calling on the strength he’s usually reluctant to show. Steve’s body jolts up with each thrust, knees nearly leaving the bed, and the only thing saving him from smacking his head into the headboard is his tight grip on it. It creaks beneath his hands, threatens to break and Jim laughs.

“Please,” Steve says, the word more groan than actual syllables. “Please...need. _T-touch me_!”

“You’ve got hands, don’t you,” Jim says as Bruce growls, the sound almost inhuman. His fingers dig tighter into Steve’s hips. “Use them.”

Steve lets out a hiccuping sob and awkwardly works his hands under him. It leaves him with his face flat on the bed and no support to take Bruce’s thrusts. He can’t think, can’t breathe, mouth against the covers and chest bound by the corset. He forces his head sideways so he can take a breath, scared Jim will make them stop if he doesn’t prove he can.

He doesn’t have the air in him to shout when he comes, wet on his hands and probably ruining the corset but he can’t be bothered to care when Bruce is still going, still using him like it’s all Steve’s good for.

“Flip him,” someone says and he complains as he finds himself suddenly empty. He goes limp and unresisting where he’s pushed, laughs breathlessly as his legs are shoved open and groans when he finds himself full again. 

A hand works over his oversensitive cock, gets him half hard again as Bruce continues to ruthlessly fuck him. Steve forces himself to focus long enough to see Jim naked and opening himself up with his free hand. Steve reaches over and palms his cock, loving the feel of it pulsing against his skin before Jim takes it from him. 

He’s getting something better though, he realizes as Jim straddles his waist, back to Steve, and sinks down on him. Bruce and Jim share a messy kiss as they take him apart, eradicating his world until all that’s left is his raw hole and eager cock. Steve babbles as he watches Jim use him like a toy, the position giving Steve the perfect view of Jim stretching around his girth, taking every inch of him like a fucking champ. He probably says it out loud, makes Bruce laugh hard enough to mess up his rhythm. 

Jim squeezes down on Steve, and he’s coming again, blindsided by it before he can even think to hold back. Steve chokes on a breath as Jim pulls off him, ass wet and come dripping down his thighs. 

“Rude,” Jim mutters and twists, slides up Steve’s body until his cock hovers near Steve’s gaping mouth. It only takes a few rough tugs for him to come too, splattering his release across Steve’s face. He dips low, ass in the air as he laps up the mess to feed it to Steve with a kiss.

Bruce grunts, hips stuttering hard before he stills, hands clasped around Steve’s thighs tight enough that he’s going to have gorgeous bruises for as long as the serum will allow. He pulls out with a hiss and collapses beside Steve, shifting in tight to steal kisses and lazily paw at Jim and Steve.

It takes awhile before any of them has the energy to move. Jim manages it first, checking Steve’s abused entrance for damage before going to get some water and a wet cloth. He gets them hydrated and cleaned, though they’re going to need a proper shower to wash away the heady smell of sex. Steve basks in it while he can, enjoying the mess they’ve made of him with his deliciously sore body and stockings that are more hole than fabric.

Bruce is right. They need to go to boring, rich people parties more often.


End file.
